


A shot a day keeps the pain away

by HanzobarMoustache



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:39:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanzobarMoustache/pseuds/HanzobarMoustache
Summary: It's not often McCree fights someone of his caliber. It's even rarer that neither he nor his opponent end up dead.





	A shot a day keeps the pain away

**Author's Note:**

> I am sick af so I decided to continue on my quest of cleaning out my old phone's files.  
> I found this. Take it.

If there was one thing McCree had learned after all these years, it was that hesitating got you killed. Hesitating had killed plenty of his Deadlock pals, his Blackwatch comrades, didn't matter who he'd seen it enough. Pausing before a shot, trying to wait and see if the enemy was actually going to shoot, whatever the cause of the hesitation it got you killed.

  
Hesitating killed Ana. There was no reason she should have been outgunned, absolutely no chance in hell that she would have been taken down if she hadn't hesitated. He'd learned from her example, swore never to hesitate again as long as his life was on the line. He'd stood by that decision for years.

  
So why in the Sam hell was he hesitating now?

  
Maybe it was the man's weapon. One didn't come across many people nowadays that lugged around a weapon that size that required so much personal care, that was so ancient in design, that seemed like it'd been pulled right out of an old movie. The bow reminded McCree of his own six-shooter despite the fact the two had nearly nothing in common.

Maybe it was his presence. He was shorter than McCree, slightly, but he was just as broad if not moreso. Sturdy, compact, and nothing but agile despite what his built-like-a-fucking-house appearance contributed to the contrary. He'd vaulted over anything in his path, climbed the smooth side of a building, kept pace with McCree despite being on unfamiliar ground. Strong, fast, smart, and cocky as all hell,

McCree didn't appreciate it. Didn't feel like there was room enough for the two of their egos in the abandoned church they'd run into.

McCree would bet money, though, on the man's eyes being the reason he hesitated. He had his bow pulled taut, ready to fire and sink that arrow into McCree's chest, but he had no intention of doing so. Sure, he'd hit McCree enough to make him a decent pincushion over the course of their thirty-minute chase, but those had been grazing shots, and as much as they stung they hadn't really hurt him that badly.

The same could be said for the other guy as far as McCree's bullets were concered. The entire situation was rubbing him wrong, and his aim had been off - not that anyone but himself would know, let alone the man with his own close-calls.

Still, the man's eyes were far too expressive. At the beginning of their dance - because McCree had decided this  _was_ a dance, the man was testing him - the man had seemed bored. His eyes might as well have been glazed over, and he was hardly invested in the fight until McCree had bloodied him when they drew too close for projectiles. Intrigue had taken root, and within the next few moments of exchanging blows it had blossomed into hope. McCree could only assume the hope was for a good fight, an interesting one, and he'd been proven somewhat correct when the man threw him across the room and gave chase when McCree had gone to flashbang the guy and turn tail. McCree had assumed the glint in his eye had been that of a bored cat waiting for a mouse that could amuse it long enough, but he'd been wrong.

This guy had a death wish.

He had a bow. If he was truly after the bounty on McCree's head, he could have taken him out easily. He hadn't. He wanted a fight, and he wanted to lose.

The dawning made McCree's finger tighten slightly on Peacekeeper's trigger, the barrel still level with the man's face, and he saw the man's eyes twist with both terror and anticipation.

McCree was usually one to give people what they wanted, but not now.

"Never did catch your name," McCree murmured, recalling the threats and taunts and teasing that had passed through the air during their dance. He'd freely given his name to the stranger if only because it was polite and the guy likely knew already with the wanted posters everywhere.

The man stiffened fractionally before huffing out, "I do not recall offering it to you."

"You didn't, but it's only fair after I shared mine, ain't it? Not a proper duel otherwise."

"A duel would suggest we fight as equals, and that is hardly the case."

"No? You seemed pretty excited once I nicked you, unless that was my imagination."

"A fantasy, I assure you, gunslinger."

"The name's McCree."

"So it is."

"You strike me as a Shiro type. Maybe a Kazuo. Anywhere close?"

"Hanzo."

"Never woulda guessed. It suits you." McCree lowered his gun. "Now, what the hell do you want from me?"

"Your bounty."

"That so? Then why am I still kickin'?"

"It is higher when you are still breathing, or have you not read your own wanted posters?"

"Ain't read any that say I'm worth more alive."

"To the highest bidder go the spoils."

"Hmm... so you say, but I have a hard time believing that." McCree holstered his revolver, turning his back to this assassin -  _Hanzo_ \- and heading toward the back of the church. "What do you want? Cuz I ain't gonna kill you."

"Then it appears I have wasted my time with another unworthy opponent."

"Yeah, yeah, you want a drink?"

"Of?"

"Don't know, but these old churches always have somethin' in their pastor's office. Probably tequila."

The archer paused a moment before putting his bow across his back, following quietly. "Very well."


End file.
